


A series of (un)fortunate mistakes

by Cute Negativity Cloud (Ofelia)



Series: An endless list of clichéd and ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS AUs, Half Bad edition [4]
Category: Half Bad, Half Life Trilogy - Sally Green
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, I don't think there's a tag for this, M/M, the fire alarm went off at 3am and now we're standing in the rain AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ofelia/pseuds/Cute%20Negativity%20Cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Byrn is a dedicated Art student, freshly delivered on American soil for a student exchange in Atlanta, GA. It should be the coronation of years of saving and working hard; instead the fruit of success has a bitter aftertaste. Nathan finds himself dreading the semester ahead, and so he does what he does best. It's a good thing not everyone is as spectacularly bad as him in dealing with a bad hand from Life. Luckily enough, apparently Gabriel likes them cranky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A series of (un)fortunate mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the tumblr prompt "the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear AU". Too bad I forgot about the underwear part. Also, it's set in a dorm? Basically I forgot about the prompt proper.

Nathan Byrn had been in Atlanta for 10 hours, 23 minutes, and a handful of seconds, and he had made a big mistake.

Coming to Atlanta had been a big mistake. That was the sentence that tumbled and tumbled in his head like a mess of clothes abandoned in a washing machine, zippers and buttons rattling restlessly inside. Everything he had seen since he had stepped foot on American soil had been cementing that thought. The endless line at customs, moving at a maddening snail's pace (it had taken two hours just to reach the cubicle, and for what? Hadn't he been thoroughly checked and re-checked and _body-scanned_ , _for fuck's sake_ , already?). The officers attempting a joke – _Coming from the other side of the Pond, uh, son?_ \- when he didn't like to _joke_ with _cops_ on his _best_ days, and a day in which his head was filled with cotton and heavy with an incoming migraine from a 9-hours, sleepless flight was definitely not a best day. It wasn't even a good day. It was a terrible day. Then came the volunteer who was assigned to drive him to the dorm – a mother of four, as she proudly introduced herself, with a very blond daughter in tow and a very American gigantic pick-up truck that, honestly, Nathan hadn't even known how to climb into. He had even had a moment of absolute confusion when he remembered he was supposed to open the right-side door, not the left, and the poorly-disguised chuckle that escaped his driver's lips had been _humiliating_. The attempts at inane small talk hadn't helped at all. Then came downtown, and the run-down, decrepit buildings lining the deserted streets, and the dorm right in the middle of the war-style after-curfew silence, and Nathan had thought, _What the hell did I do._ Very American Mom – she had introduced herself, but he hadn't paid attention in the least – had escorted him to the reception and had hovered and pointed and been generally, _disgustingly_ maternal as he had filled the forms, fighting the tremble in his hands. If the sleepy-looking RA had noticed, she hadn't said anything. Then Very American Mom had left, finally – _Here have this card signed by my hundred kids who never even saw you, there's our phone number on it, we'd LOVE to hear from you again! -_ and the RA had escorted him to his room, and he had taken in the blackened plumbing crowding the hallway's ceiling, the stained carpeted floors, and had thought, again, more forcefully, _What the hell did I do._ He had stood in the doorway for a while, refusing to give in to the raw soreness clawing up his throat. He had tried to focus on the practical, on the things he could _do_ instead of wallowing. He had hauled the suitcase in the bedroom, found the empty bed, began to put on the sheets, only to find they were the wrong size, because of course American college-issued mattresses had to be of a size all of their own. He had gritted his teeth, hard. He had climbed on the halfway-made bed, curled in a tight ball under the covers still smelling of home, and hoped the exhaustion from the flight put him under. He had hoped, most of all, to erase the image that had been replaying on loop at the back of his mind ever since walking to the metal detectors in the airport: Arran and Deborah looking him go, looking him walk away, arms loosely around each other and smiling, sad and happy and controlled and proud and...

Nathan had squeezed his eyes.

_What the hell did I do._

Not four hours later, he was awake again. His internal clock, of course, was sure it was morning, when in Atlanta it was 03:00am. He tossed and turned in his bed, hoping to fall asleep again, but all he got was a growing throb in the back of his head. His stomach was queasy with jet-lag. That's how he found himself sitting on a foreign couch, lights off and the battery of his laptop dying on him because of course, American outlets were incompatible with English plugs (to be fair, he had known about this, and buying an adaptor was the number one item on his list of things-to-do-the-moment-you-find-a-supermarket, but still). Whoever his roommate was, he was nowhere to be seen, for which Nathan was grateful. He wanted privacy as he freaked out over the semester looming ahead.

He couldn't believe himself, and yet here he was. Staring out of a window, a magnificent skyline dotted with skyscrapers right before his eyes, and all he could do was fight back the tears. He had thought he was above being homesick. He had been repeating over and over again, like a broken record, ever since he had entered his local, country-side Art School, _I am going to leave this backwater hellhole and go abroad_. He had thrown himself into his work and he had found a part- time job and when he had saved enough, he had applied for a semester in the States. He had been so happy when his application had been accepted. Even when Gran had died two months before his departure, he never even entertained the idea of not going. No one had. Why would they? It would have been an enormous waste of money. Gran would have been furious if she had been there, she would have given them all an earful for even entertaining the idea. Nathan could take it. 

Or so he had thought. Now he was reconsidering. He tried to drown the homesickness with the more logical part of his brain –  _You're just tired and jet-lagged, it's night, you have to give yourself time to familiarize with the new environment, everything will look better in the sunlight, tomorrow, in two days, after the International Students' Office meet-up, in four days, when classes start... -_ but the tumbling in his mind wasn't getting any better. His fingers hovered on the keyboard. Two thoughts were warring and climbing over each over to win.

_It's a five-hours difference with the UK, it's around 9am back there,_ was one, soft and aching for comfort, the image of Nathan's two siblings seeing him off at the airport engraved in every syllable.

_I will not be this weak_ , was the other, stubborn and proud and unwilling to give in to something as stupid as homesickness after a grand total of seventeen hours away from his family.

_Seventeen hours, one ocean, six months away from his family,_ the other, softer part of him supplied.

_I will not be this weak,_ Nathan thought, more strongly, and closed his laptop's lid. Better to save battery until he found an adaptor. He took out his sketchbook and pencils – the rest of his supplies was supposed to arrive in a few days – and sat on the windowsill facing the skyline. It was the dead of night, but it wasn't dark at all. The empty streets were lined with a myriad orange streetlights, and the sky was a dusty blanket without stars. The buildings right in front of the dorm were run-down, inelegant blocks, with flat rooftops covered in coiled wires and AC units. Behind them, not farther than a block, skyscrapers jagged the night, their spires blazing. Some sported neon-bright business signs – a mobile company, a bank.

Nathan took all that in, and sketched until dawn.

 

Maybe he hadn't made such a terrible mistake after all.

That's what he thought as he sat in a comfortable and very blue armchair in the International Students&Scholars' Service office – ISSS for short, which sounded like either a snake hissing or a skipping record – the late afternoon's light making the dozens little flags decorating the space even brighter. Maybe the very blue tapestries and carpeting helped to make the colors pop – Nathan had quickly caught up to Very Blue being the university's colour. It was hard not to; it was bloody everywhere. He was surprised the toilet paper wasn't also Very Blue.

The international students' orientation meeting had been informative, well-structured, and well-supplied with coffee and food (which was an important thing, seeing as Nathan had yet to find a grocery store; luckily enough he had found a pizza joint and a Subway right down the road).

The ISSS office was colourful, and warm, and welcoming. He didn't know if it was because he felt lost or if it was just the way things were, but the office staff seemed to radiate patience and sympathy around them in an angelic halo.

That was definitely the feeling lost-part talking.

Nathan was called to the counter for some form-filling. By the end of his talk to the employee his hands were full of fliers – _The International Student Guide! Everything you need to remember about your VISA, The Students' Fitness Center's Winter Activities Guide, See the Heart of the United States with the ISSS's trip to Washington DC_ (didn't anyone oppose to that many s's?) _, The Big Gay Talk! Come to the LGBT+ discussion group_ (Nathan hoped the terrible pun was at least intentional), and a dozen more he didn't bother to read.

_Aren't Americans enthusiastic,_ he thought as he fit them in his Important Documents, Do Not Lose Lest the FBI Kick You Out folder (no kidding, Deborah had personally written that on the front). Before he left, the employee invited him to pay a visit to the VISA leaders in the next room – the “Volunteer International Student Assistants” (plus a self-congratulatory “leader”? Was that even necessary?) - to ask for any advice or help in adjusting to campus life.

Uh. He still needed an adaptor, and he had no idea where the closest grocery store was either.

He ventured into the room expecting to find a crowd; it was very quiet instead, with a handful of students huddled together as they talked and laughed in hushed tones. Nathan hesitated at the door, but a girl sitting cross-legged on a desk noticed him right away and said with a teasing smile “Hello there! Now, don't be shy, come on in, we don't bite.”

“Not all of us at least,” the boy next to her said, to which she giggled _._ The boy stood up and smiled at him. “Don't mind Rose. She likes to eat children for breakfast but she's harmless the rest of the day,” he said, as Rose twirled a strand of glossy black hair and smiled at Nathan, her lips painted with a deep shade of ruby he had rarely seen someone wear, “but I swear we're mostly normal, well-adjusted people.”

“Well-adjusted people don't try to kill themselves climbing rocks bare-handed,” another boy interjected.

“One, I said 'mostly', and two, free climbing is a noble art that I won't have misrepresented in my presence,” the boy from before said in good humour, without taking his eyes off Nathan. He had a strange accent, slightly French maybe, but mixed with something else Nathan couldn't pinpoint. The boy offered his hand. “I'm Gabriel, by the way.”

Nathan shook his hand, suddenly – and stupidly – wondering if he had any charcoal stains on his hands, because charcoal was his favourite medium, and of course he hadn't touched any charcoal since landing, hence it was stupid to wonder at all. “Nathan.” Gabriel's hand was rough, which shouldn't have been surprising. And yet, Nathan had expected it to be. Maybe to compliment the summery, gentle twilight feel of his smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Nathan. Where are you from?”

“...United Kingdom.” Someone snickered, someone hollered, and Gabriel got a seemingly painful smack on the back. Everybody started to talk at once, asking Nathan all different kinds of questions – _Where are you from exactly, London? What major are you in? How long are you staying?_ He didn't come here to make conversation; if that was what he was going to get, he'd rather be back to his still blissfully empty room. Rose must have caught his discomfort, for she said, “Is there something we cal help you with, Nathan?”

He stretched the sudden silence a little longer before answering. They seemed like the lively bunch he'd usually avoid. Then again, he needed the help. Besides, what was he expecting? They were volunteering international students. No one any short of outgoing would do such a thing.

“Right. I really need an adaptor for my laptop, which died on me this morning. My smartphone doesn't work because I don't have a plan yet, so I can't look up where the nearest department store is on my own. Can you give me directions?”

The students exchanged looks.

“The problem with Atlanta, as you'll see for yourself soon enough, is that its public transports are pretty much useless. You need a car to move anywhere, especially to department stores. The closest one is Walmart, isn't it?” Gabriel asked, looking at Rose.

“I think so, yeah.”

“If you also need appliances for your room and groceries, it's perfect”, Gabriel said, “you can buy everything together. We have a car, we could bring you.”

“He means I have a car,” Rose singsonged.

Gabriel didn't even glance at her. “We were going to close everything here and head off anyway. You want to go?”

Nathan was pretty sure he couldn't get out of it even if he tried at that point. “I mean, if it's really no trouble...”

“It's not,” Gabriel said, just as the boy from before said, “Of course it's not!” pretty loud.

Gabriel smiled at that, but he didn't retort. Rose slid gracefully from the desk, long black hair streaming on her shoulder. She hooked Nathan's arm with her own and breathed, “Let's go then, Nathan.”

For the second time in just a few days, Nathan had to climb up a wall of a pick-up – really, were these cars designed for _giants_? - but at least this time his legs got the memo from his brain, and he didn't go for the wrong door. Gabriel insisted on him riding shotgun. At first, he didn't think much of it. But ten minutes of ride in and an uninterrupted flow of questions and conversation later, he could see how Gabriel had yet to break eye contact through the rear view mirror. The combination of his hazel eyes on him and the rapid-fire back-and-forth between him and Rose was almost enough to make Nathan drop his guard. But he had been the youngest brother in a family of overbearing overprotective siblings allied with an equally overbearing overprotective grandmother with the carpet bombing-questions as their favourite weapon of war. He wasn't going to be defeated. Although, the effort he had to put into not breaking eye contact first with Gabriel was distracting.

In just about half an hour of drive, Nathan learned that:

  * Rose was a criminology major from the British Virgin Islands.

  * Gabriel was a Cultural Studies major with a focus on literature, he was technically from France, but actually he was half English and half Swiss, he had been living in Marseilles with his mother and little sister ever since his parents had divorced, but he had also lived near Tampa with his father for a year or so and then in Geneva on his own, he loved Symbolist poets, especially Baudelaire, gothic novels such as _Wuthering Heights_ , and Toni Morrison's works, as previously noted he had a passion for free climbing, and he lived in the same dorm as Nathan, wasn't that great, and _he talked a bloody lot_.




Nathan, in turn, tried to keep his answers short. He was a Fine Arts major, his specialization was painting, he was from a small town near Warrington, yes that's close to Liverpool, no he wasn't from Liverpool, _aren't you half English aren't you tired of being associated with The Beatles?_

As he noticed Nathan curl into himself and expose his spikes like a very irritated hedgehog, Gabriel effortlessly moved from questioning to general talk about Atlanta and useful tips for students. Nathan relaxed and stored all he could for later. You never knew when you wanted a midnight snack at the nearest Waffle House (whatever that was), or what the MARTA was (the Metropolitan Atlanta Mass Transit System – really, _metro_ wasn't cool enough?), or how far it reached the city's borders (apparently it didn't at all? What was the point).

When they arrived at Walmart, Nathan was set on this shopping trip to be quick, thrifty, quick, and quick. He hated crowded places, he hated loud, fluorescent-lighted environments, and that meant he loathed supermarkets. Luckily enough it was early January and the place wasn't particularly lively. He was here on a mission, and he was going to be efficient in its execution. He commandeered Gabriel's and Rose's knowledge of the place and had them point him to where the useful aisles where. They looked a little startled at how precise his questions were, but other than that, they obliged. Apparently, it wasn't the first time they accompanied a student there, but it was rare to find a student with such clear ideas about what went into a kitchen. Gabriel laughed particularly loud when Nathan asked, “I guess the produce here is basically toxic waste?” while Rose pointed out in an amused tone how Nathan was “quite the housewife, only much angrier”.

In less than an hour he had filled his cart with everything a decent kitchen might need. He checked his mental list: olive oil, flour, salt, sugar, eggs... he still didn't know whether he could use the kitchenware in the room, since his roommate had yet to manifest, but he sure hoped so. Buying all that would have cost a little fortune.

It was as he was picking a brand of cream corn that it struck him. Every time he found something, he didn't mentally check a list; he mentally closed a cabinet. He was remembering how the cupboards in his home kitchen were organized. He should know; he had helped Gran fill it every week for most of his life. Even more so in the last months, when the cancer was eating away at her and she was staying more and more at home, leaving the grocery shopping and the chores to him and Debs – very reluctantly and with stubborn denials of needing any help, because, in her own words, _she wasn't going to be a helpless fucking patient, she was going to beat this fucker to the grou---_

Nathan stopped dead in his tracks.

Gabriel, who had been walking a few steps ahead, turned back. Rose was even farther; she turned a corner and disappeared from view. Nathan stared at the floor as he fought to push down and bottle again his thoughts, but they were always bubbling up, pushing his walls with ever-growing pressure. Rather than seeing Gabriel approaching, he saw his shoes retracing his steps, stopping at a respectful distance.

“You okay there?” he asked, voice doubtful. His accent was really all over the place. Maybe that was what made him sound so soothing. Something about the consonants that sounded strangely caressing.

Nathan was glad for the untamable mess of black hair covering his eyes. He glanced up briefly. Gabriel looked concerned.

His lips parted the smallest bit when their eyes met.

Nathan knew he was going to be rude to a person who didn't deserve it at all. He angrily pushed past him and said, “Let's find the bloody adaptor and get out.”

Gabriel didn't comment on it and helped him navigate the electronics aisles – which made Nathan feel even guiltier about his outburst.

God, he was so pathetic. What was with these stupid flashbacks? More importantly, what was with him being so affected by them? He wanted to stop remembering her like this. A wraith braving the inevitable, defeated, and so frail, worming into every crevice of Nathan's thoughts. He wanted the time in which he would remember everything else, anything else, to hurry the fuck up and _be there_.

Anger and guilt scraped at his ribs and clawed up to his throat, and he breathed, breathed, breathed in as deep as he could, inhaling against the constriction burning his lungs, exhaling silent sighs with ragged edges.

Gabriel didn't say anything more than a few directions after Nathan's outburst. In a handful of minutes they were at the checkout, out hauling shopping bags in the boot, and then driving back to downtown. Nathan crossed his arms and stared out of the window; Gabriel and Rose talked in muffled voices. Considering Nathan had completely shut himself off for no apparent reason, they were taking it quite well. He met Rose's eyes in the faint reflection of the glass a few times, but she looked amused more than anything. He didn't lift his eyes to check the rear-view window, and he hoped Gabriel couldn't see him as slouched as he was on the passenger seat. When they arrived at the dorm, Nathan got off the moment the pick-up stopped moving. The sooner he was in his room, alone, the better.

His hand clashed with Gabriel's when he reached for the boot's handle. He stared, gaping, feeling for the briefest moment the flutter of their fingers lingering and then flying apart, until he realized he was being a _goddamned idiot_ _with his mouth hanging open_.

Nathan summoned his best, better honed weapon. He scowled. “What are you doing?”

Gabriel laughed nervously. “Well I live here too, thought I might help with the bags. They're a lot.”

Nathan took said bags and draped them on his arms – all seven of them – fighting down another wave of _stupid, stupid and pathetic_ memories of walking to a door with his arms full of grocery bags and an indignant, crutch-brandishing Gran in tow. “I don't need your help.”

“I'd just like to help”, Gabriel murmured, but it was a half-hearted attempt. Like he knew what was coming. Nathan didn't fight it, although he knew he should, although he knew he was being an arsehole. He turned, and he said, “Let me rephrase that: I don't want your help.”

Nathan strode inside the dorm and straight into the lift. Before the doors closed, he looked up. Gabriel was standing on the other side, a maddeningly _sympathetic_ half-smile blooming on his lips.

 

Nathan had definitely made a mistake. Just not the one he had thought.

Scratch that; he had made multiple mistakes.

Classes had started, and the work rhythm was absolutely _devastating_. He was living on an unforgiving schedule, and he was grateful once more for how strict Gran had always been about organizing chores, because if he had to judge by the emptiness of the laundry room, no one else got up at 7:30 in the morning of a Sunday to do their laundry – but it was either that, or battling all other five hundred residents who didn't have time to do said laundry during the week.

This, of course, wasn't one of those mistakes. Enrolling in five advanced classes _might_ have counted as a mistake, but really, Nathan didn't mind. He was there to work hard and challenge himself as an artist, not to party or socialize or whatever else the other international students were doing with their time. Also, he had firmly established himself as That Arsehole who was rude to people who not only were popular (or so he thought; VISA leaders were well-known around campus and Gabriel and Rose were both undeniably beautiful), but nice and helpful too.

Which brought him back to Mistake Number One: he had been an arsehole. He had also been insanely busy, and he hadn't seen Gabriel ever since – nor Rose, for that matter, but she didn't live in his same dorm. He had been avoiding the parties for international students to keep out of trouble (fights had a tendency to always pick him up), and he had been carefully avoiding the ISSS office. He had everything sorted out as far as his semester was concerned, no need to go the office, right?

Right.

Those were all the excuses he had given to Arran over the latest skype call. Basically the same excuses as the call before it, and the one before that. Arran didn't seem able to stop bringing it up, over and over again. He was hell-bent on Nathan doing something about it, apparently. And he wasn't wrong, because _dammit_ , Nathan felt guilty about it, but what was he supposed to do? Knock on every single door in his dorm until he miraculously found Gabriel's room? He wasn't that desperate, he could live with being That Arsehole – he sort of was anyway.

(So what if he was avoiding the common area too – it was always crowded and noisy.)

“You could, I don't know, ask the front desk? If he's as handsome as you said someone must know at least in which floor he lives.”

“I _never_ said he's handsome, who gave you this stupid idea Arran?”

“Debs. She says you were suspiciously specific about the colour of his eyes, and that, and I quote, 'Nathan has little stars in his eyes whenever he says Gabriel's name'. And you did mention that he and Rose must be both popular. Don't think I didn't notice you covering your tracks by throwing her in too.”

“I'm for the equal opportunities of the sexes,” Nathan said, “And as you know I don't discriminate. I wasn't throwing her into anything.”

Telling his siblings about the whole mess had been Mistake Number Two. But he couldn't have helped himself: he had been so overjoyed at having that bloody adaptor, at being able to call home, that he had overshared. And now that he couldn't help himself but skype anytime he had even just a few minutes to spare, he was under Arran's and Debs' scrutiny like a sample under a microscope. Like right now. As soon as he had returned from classes around 6:00pm, he had launched skype to check if Arran or Debs were online (seriously, was this that whole Pavlov shit? He knew they were going to subject him to the same embarrassing questions, and yet he kept calling).

“Well okay, but you haven't been agonizing about being rude to _her_ for the last two weeks.”

“It's just that...” Nathan sighed. “He looked so understanding. It pisses me off.”

Arran chuckled. “And why is that?”

Nathan scowled at his pixelated image. “Don't you dare psychoanalyse me Arran.”

Arran's scoff came as a distorted noise through the speakers. “Weird, I thought I had been doing exactly that ever since you hit your first O'Brien.”

Nathan flashed a feral grin. “Good times. I almost miss the fuckers.”

It was Arran's turn to scowl.

“Don't give me that face.”

“Nathan, please, keep out of trouble.”

“I am Arran, I swear. Give me some credit. I haven't been in a fight ever since I started university right?”

“That's true,” his brother said, sighing. Then he perked up. “Now, going back to your unresolved issues with Gabriel...”

Nathan made an inarticulate noise of complaint.

 

Nothing came out of that conversation, just as nothing had come out of the ones before. Nathan was still determined to ignore Mistake Number One for the sake of his dignity. He was aware he was just delaying the inevitable – he was going to see Gabriel sooner or later, if only by chance, and that was going to be so awkward.

If he was lucky, Gabriel would decide to just ignore him.

If he was unlucky, he'd demand an explanation.

With his rotten luck, it would probably happen in a public space too.

Even worse, what if Gabriel came to him with that understanding half-smile he had that time in the dorms entrance? What would he say _then_? Oh god, he didn't know how to handle sympathy.

Nathan groaned and covered his face with a pillow. First, it was the jet lag. Then, it was the homesickness. Now, it was the homesickness _and_ these thoughts that fueled his insomnia.

How stupid was it? In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't even something to think twice about. So he had been rude to someone. Big fucking deal.

He kept himself from tossing around under the duvet, did the breathing exercises Debs had taught him ages ago (she had always been the proactive one, nose buried deep in the book she was sure held the solution for the problem at hand) and hoped for at least a few hours of sleep. He was drifting between barely-awake and maybe-finally-asleep, when a blaring sound made him jump awake. He sat up on his bed, a little confused and a lot pissed off. As he searched for his phone to check the time, it hit him: the noise was the fire alarm. The screen read 3:00am. Nathan hung his head and sighed. Then he stood up and fished his shoes and jacket from the wardrobe. He looked out of the wide windows – the shutter was broken and it couldn't roll farther than halfway, so he could see the street below. It was raining.

_Perfect. Fucking perfect._

He grabbed the umbrella and the room's key and he made his way to the stairs. He was almost sure it was a false alarm, but just in case, better to avoid the lifts. Besides, if a RA was to catch him he'd never hear the end of it. The alarm was much louder in the corridor, students emerging from their rooms in various states of undress. Some looked bewildered, some frightened, but most just seemed too asleep to be more than mildly angry about the whole situation.

Nathan climbed down the six flights of stairs. Under the orange strobe lights of the alarm system, the concrete walls and the visible plumbing gave a nice zombie apocalypse touch to the setting. When he arrived at the exit, the doors were open, held by a pair of RAs who were urging the students out. They seemed calm, however. Nathan followed the instructions and crossed the street. A lot of students were already out, huddling under the canopy of the buildings across the dorm. He was surprised to see that the majority of them didn't have a coat. Did they want to die?

(Okay, that was a little extreme, but even Atlanta was cold at three in the morning in January.)

All around him, people were wondering if a fire had really broke out somewhere in the dorms, or complaining about the cold. Some long-time residents were recalling similar episodes, when someone had forgot a pot on the stove and burnt the rice inside, or that one time some idiots had gotten too stoned to remember to keep the window open, and the smoke had triggered the alarm. Nathan only half-listened, hiding under his umbrella and staring into the puddles of rain glittering on street.

Someone lifted a corner of the umbrella. Nathan glared – _What the hell was this fucker doing?_ \- and looked up, ready to tear the daring idiot a new one, only for his growling warning to freeze on his lips.

“I thought it was you,” Gabriel said, smile as warm as Nathan remembered it.

“Mind if I borrow a little space under here? I don't have an umbrella,” he said, keeping just outside of Nathan's space. The rain – more like a light drizzle, really – had caught in his curly dark hair, making it glisten under the light of the streetlamps. A rebellious strand was clinging to his neck.

“Sure”, Nathan muttered. Then he cursed himself. What had possessed him to agree to _that_?

Gabriel ducked under the umbrella, and instinctively Nathan started to lean away to put some space between them, and then he had to stop because _dammit_. He had just agreed to offer the fucking umbrella, he couldn't get awkward at how their shoulders almost brushed _now_. Or, he _could_ , but he could also _not show it._

He stared ahead, acting as if he was interested – or even seeing – the various staff members clearing the last students from the doors. Everybody was out, either shivering or chatting or cursing or all of the above, and Gabriel was so close Nathan could feel the warmth radiating from him. Did he want an apology? Was he going to bring Mistake Number One up? Was he going ignore the whole incident?

_Play it cool, Nathan, play it cool._

Gabriel looked down, before meeting his eyes and saying, “Nice pajamas.”

Nathan stared at him for a second, bewildered, before looking down too. He was wearing one of those dreadful pajamas Debs liked to buy him as a joke – this one had a pattern of little skeletons dancing. It was a damned good thing he wasn't wearing the one with a plate of smiling sushi on the front, with the slogan “THIS IS HOW I ROLL” right under it.

“What can I say. I'm not ashamed of showing the world my sis loves to humiliate me,” Nathan said, a shot of affection warming his half-smile at the thought of how gleefully childish Debs got whenever she gave him a new one.

Gabriel laughed. “Yeah I know that about sisters. They're a wicked breed.”

Nathan dared a once-over. It seemed like he, too, had found the time – and sense – to put on a jacket; a dark pea coat with glistening buttons. The hood was pulled half-way up, Gabriel's wavy hair spilling from it. “I don't see you wearing embarrassing pajamas though.”

“My sister is more of the 'spill all the embarrassing beans in public' variety,” Gabriel said. “She does it on purpose, of course.”

“Nice. Is she here too?” Nathan asked, pretending innocence.

Gabriel grinned. “Luckily for me, she's still in Marseilles.”

“Too bad.”

“If you're looking for embarrassing stories, I'm sure Rose can tell you a few.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “And you're willingly giving me this information because...?”

“Maybe I have no shame,” Gabriel said, and his eyes were unwavering, chained to Nathan's. And Nathan felt like he was in Rose's car again, looking into the rear-view mirror and meeting Gabriel's gaze, full of mirth and warmth. It reminded Nathan of what it felt like to drape a soft blanket on his shoulders after a day outside in the winter frost, and rest close to the gently crackling fireplace.

He could almost see a Mistake Number Three looming on the not-so distant horizon.

A loud horn pierced the rainy night, covering the buzz of the students waiting. A firetruck parked in front of the dorm's entrance, and four firemen climbed out of it and walked to the staff waiting by the doors. The leisure of the entire operation spoke of countless useless calls like this one and of routine.

Nathan broke eye contact first, to look at them. “Guess this happens often.”

“It's a good thing they're obliged to check the dorms every time the fire alarm gets triggered. This time, it was a girl who forgot a quiche in the oven,” Gabriel said, chuckling. “She forgot and went to bed, can you believe that?”

“How do you know?”

“She's on my floor, I was the first one there.”

“Oh,” Nathan said, and he could hear Mistake Number Three's fast-approaching steps, gaining speed, ready to slam into him. He asked anyway. “What floor are you on?”

Gabriel smiled, but only a little, like he was hiding a broader smile behind casualness and politeness. “Fourteenth, the last floor. The view is breathtaking. You should see it.”

But the warmth. The warmth was still there, stoked and kindled by every word they exchanged, embers glowing in the velvety darkness.

“I guess I should.”

This time, Nathan was sure Gabriel was fighting down a big, pleased smile. Nathan frowned. “Don't look so smug.”

At that, Gabriel smiled so broadly his eyes became little crescents of happiness.

Mistake Number Three body-slammed into Nathan's chest, making his heart stutter for a second, and he thought, _Oh my god_ , and then, dismayed, _I'll have to admit Debs was right._

In the meantime, the firemen had emerged from the dorm. As they climbed back into the truck and drove away, the staff signaled it was okay to get back inside. Most students rushed forward – especially those more underdressed – but Gabriel and Nathan lingered behind. It would take a while for the stairs and lifts to clear, and Nathan really didn't want to deal with the crowd. And although he _could_ take the stairs, Gabriel couldn't, probably.

“I guess you're stuck here until the lifts aren't under siege,” Nathan said.

“Definitely. It's too early in the morning to kill my legs.”

Which reminded Nathan that, before the alarm went off, his insomnia was winning their night battle as gleefully as ever. Nathan groaned.

“What is it?”

“I will never be able to sleep after this,” Nathan said before thinking better of it. What did Gabriel care? Worse, what if he was one of those people who tried to be helpful and he started to give him useless advice?

“Problems with sleep?” Gabriel asked.

Nathan thought about ignoring him. Then he thought about Mistake Number One and reminded himself to be less of an arsehole. “I have insomnia. It comes and goes, but it's been worse lately.”

Gabriel cocked his head slightly to one side, considering him. “We could kill some time in my room if you like, then.”

Nathan stared at him. _That_ , he had not expected. He had expected even less the spark of – what was it? Anticipation? Happiness? Anyway, something that should have not been there in his chest. Not with the apologies he had yet to make.

Gabriel probably misunderstood his silence, judging by his rapidly shrinking smile, but he didn't back down. A part of Nathan grieved at the loss of that smile.

“Are you sure? I'll probably won't sleep at all. I don't want to keep you awake.”

The smile bloomed again at once. “It's okay. I don't have classes tomorrow until late in the afternoon.” Then he smirked. “Maybe this time you'll manage to bear with me longer than one hour before biting my head off.”

Nathan flustered and tried to put as much space as he could between them – which was to say, barely half an inch, if at that. “Look, I'm sorry about that.” He wanted to say more, but he didn't know what without grossly oversharing, again. Then he noticed that Gabriel was looking at him funnily.

“Hey, I was joking,” he said.

Nathan stared at him. He had agonized for weeks about this, he had shared his torment about it with his siblings, he had _given capital letters_ to the moment for fuck's sake – and Gabriel _joked_ about it?

“I just thought you were tired because of the jet-lag. No big deal. Besides,” he said, and he smirked again in a way that Nathan was learning to recognize already, “you look the cranky type anyway, so I kinda expected it.”

Nathan _almost_ punched him. “I'm not hitting you only because I was an arsehole that time. But I'm warning you, you won't get another waiver.”

Gabriel laughed, and then he put a hand on Nathan's arm and guided him across the street.

Mistake Number Three folded its fluttery wings under Nathan's sternum and settled there, a glowing ember blazing to life inside his ribcage.


End file.
